Retake
by Lapis Love
Summary: "He's in the crowd, watching me, unmoving, unblinking, staring. I stare back. Questions implode in my brain. Why? Why is he here? Another one soon follows. When? When was he going to leave me alone? And I'm hit with a final question. Run? Are you going to run, chick?" This is a one-shot redo of Bonnie's flash forward in 7x05.


**A/N: True story…this began as a one-shot for my Vigne series inspired by the movie August Rush, but I changed it because Bamon was not the original pairing. Then I flipped it once learning what the title of 7x01 was going to be and wanted to rage write. But it sat and sat and now I'm brushing it off, tweaked somethings and finally finished it. This is simply me redoing Bonnie's flash forward. Enjoy.**

 ****This is also told in first person from Bonnie's POV****

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of LJ Smith/CW. OC's are mine. Plot is mine. Copyright infringement is never intended.

* * *

 **Raleigh, North Carolina**

The pulse of the crowd is magnetic. Sounds like a pretty clichéd thing to say, an overused statement that couldn't possibly convey the buzz flowing through the air. I don't know how else to explain it. I'm good with words, could talk circles around someone but just…describing the scene in front of me, it's one of those situations where you have to see it to believe it.

People are ready. Ready to move their bodies but because the anticipation is so steep most are already swaying from side to side while the band warms up, playing scales, chords, pieces of songs that it's just one cacophony of indecipherable noise that grates on the ears but still hauntingly enjoyable.

We're all waiting for the main attraction. The reason we shelled out the twenty-five dollar cover charge just to get through the door. The club is small, the stage no bigger than a postage stamp which makes everything a thousand times more intimate. And hot.

Fans are blowing but you can barely feel any semblance of cool air. It's all compressed with the overbearing stench of different types of cologne, perfume, body spray, alcohol, cigarette smoke.

I'm in the midst of it all, switching from foot to foot in my cherry red Doc Martens. My roommate Ayira is not far from me standing in front of her boyfriend, his big hands cinched around her waist eyeing everyone with disdain. He's not much of a people person. Typically hates crowds, but he didn't want Ayira and I to be in this environment alone knowing these types of private shows can get out of hand.

She winks at me, and shimmies her ass into Taylor's crotch. He has no kind of reaction, of course too busy staring wide-eyed and like he wants to flee any second. She laughs and reaches up to tap his cheek.

The strobe lights behind the stage begin to flicker and the excitement goes up another notch. Girls start screaming, guys whistle, and the promoter of tonight's show finally makes his way on stage to the microphone propped in the middle.

I clap my hands together when he asks everyone how they're feeling tonight. Some are feeling pretty damn high, others drunk, plenty more well on their way to getting there. I'm cool for the moment. There's only one type of substance that can get me anywhere near to feeling high, and I'm waiting for him to make his grand appearance on stage.

As usual my heart begins to pound and race to the point I can hear my heart beating in my ears. This is my fifth time seeing them in concert. I don't know why I get nervous as if I'm the one performing, but it happens every single time and without fail. The palms of my hands burn and start turning clammy on me, and the heat that wasn't in the club before seems to have climbed up a degree. I dressed appropriately tonight wearing a tight black tank top and a tiered black skirt that stops just an inch below my ass. A silver chain necklace—a gift, is wrapped around my throat. I finger it as my lucky charm though I'm not the one who needs the luck.

The lights go dim that it's almost completely dark. The darkness leads everyone to lose their shit. The screams turn deafening. Spike, the lead bass guitarist strikes the first chord of their most popular song and an influx of screams, whistles, and debauched declarations from willing females is hurled around. You can taste their desperation to do anything to meet the band in the green room after the show.

Ayira, though I can't hear her I know she's snorting.

I run my tongue along my lower lip tasting lip gloss and Mac lipstick. Spike teases the crowd by playing a single note at a time, egging us on, making us beg him to put us out of our misery.

Leon begins pounding out on the drums and the lights mimic every hit of his drumstick on the snare. Tuck is up next showing off on the electric guitar, and then as one they start playing "Dark Daze."

A silhouette of a man walking on stage makes the noise level rise because we all know it's him. I don't blink, and when I swallow it's so loud I want to tell myself to shut up so I won't miss a word of what I know is coming next.

He hums into the microphone. The lights remain low making it near impossible to see anything besides the outline of his body. Girls are already thrashing around, pulling their hair, and he had yet to open his mouth and really sing. But the sound of his humming is enough to make panties drop to the floor. It certainly is like an arrow whizzing through the multitude primed, ready, and aimed at my crotch.

I want to scream with the rest of them. Let him know I'm here and I'm watching and though girls might be flashing their bras and tits, I'll be the only one he'll see. Yeah right. I'm a fan. A dime a dozen. But we do have something in common…magic. They're all warlocks.

The lights finally burn bright hurting my eyes for a second but I ignore the pain so I can feast hungrily on Rhys.

The screams increase to a higher frequency I didn't think was possible. Nevertheless they immediately simmer down as soon as Rhys starts singing the first stanza.

His voice is deliciously raspy and fluid and the lyrics are drenched in sex, pain, and rage. The song is about loving a girl and her passing on in life, leaving him behind to pick up the pieces their broken love left asunder. The lyrics hit a little too close to home.

Tonight Rhys forewent his customary style of ripped tee and leather pants and settled with red skinny jeans and a black wife beater. We're matching and I'm in love.

He and I met once two years ago at an industry party. My first time ever being invited to such an event. I spend my days as a procurement specialist in the human sciences department at the Headwater Museum of Anthropology. Sounds boring and it can be, but it pays the bills and gives me spending money to splurge on my true pleasures in life.

Anyways at the industry party I told Rhys my name, said I loved his music. He thanked me, posed for a picture and said I was beautiful. We touched and he knew. Knew I was a witch. He slid me his number. It took about two weeks for the smile to be wiped clean from my face. But it was a night I'd never forget.

He's holding on to the mike with both hands now, head cocked to the side, vein protruding from the side of his neck. He's already covered in sweat, his short black hair messily spiked. Even being far from the stage I see the stubble underneath his full bottom lip that I want to take between my teeth.

His eyes are closed, sealing the rest of the world off as he concentrates on the lyrics, hitting every single high and low note with practiced ease. He sings almost piously, pouring everything he's feeling into his art and it squeezes my soul.

Slowly his lids open and he's locked on to me. I like to think. A corner of his pink mouth lifts and I wish that small smile is just for me, but he slams his eyes close to finish out the song.

A minute later the song comes to a close and once again the noise flies up to the rafters. Rhys full on smiles, only briefly. His face turns serious once more and he moistens his lips. Girls scream and fan themselves.

The concert continues. The songs are passionate, challenging ones views about what it means to live, be human, to love, to fuck. Rhys goes from one end of the stage to the next, jumping recklessly when necessary, holding out the hand held mike for crowd participation. He's in his element and soaks everything in. I'm sure the euphoria heads right for his head and balls.

The entire band is drenched in sweat and everyone has lost their shirt, except Rhys much to the chagrin of the female delegation.

Rhys drags out a stool and sits down. He's handed an acoustic guitar. I squirm because this is my favorite part of the show where it's just him. Sometimes he sings while he plays or he'll just strum his acoustic no other sound added. Either way, watching his fingers fly over and pluck the strings is in my estimation another type of foreplay.

He adjusts the mike, screams sound, Rhys laughs, and plays a few notes. He stops and speaks, "This next song is dedicated to the most beautiful woman in my life."

A couple of boos are thrown toward the stage.

"My mother," Rhys deadpans in admonishment.

I see a couple of girls' cheeks color with embarrassment.

Once he's finished strumming the acoustic, his face softens to one of deep sorrow before it vanishes into a panty melting smile that of course makes anyone with an x chromosome faint. That means everyone.

I glance to my right and I blink rapidly.

 _No_.

He's in the crowd, watching me, unmoving, unblinking, staring. I stare back. Questions implode in my brain. _Why?_ Why is he here? Another one soon follows. _When?_ When was he going to leave me alone? And I'm hit with a final question. _Run?_ Are you going to run, chick? I have no answers for myself. I wait for him to move, to disappear and reappear beside me, but he remains where he is, stares. Unnerving me with his abrupt presence.

This has to be another hallucination. I've been having them for a while. Well, since I was told he died. The pain is a chisel to my happiness. He's not real, I remind myself. You miss him and it's the only reason why he inexplicably shows up in places where I just so happen to be. The ache above my chest, it blooms and I work not to rub that spot, yet I give into the urge because it's the only way to make him disappear.

I force myself to look away from him, but I find myself quickly looking at him again. He's still at it. Immoveable. Impenetrable. Strobe lights bounce off his skin. He's a statue and I have no idea how to handle this.

Songs segue into one another but all I focus on is the fact Damon Salvatore is here.

Ayira grips my arm startling me. She yells, "Are you all right?"

I nod because I can't tell her I may be having a psychotic break.

Giving my undivided attention to the band I remind myself that feeding into that darkness would only breed more darkness. My life is truly brand new for the first time. Old things have fallen away. I didn't have to be the Bonnie whose life was tied to one best friend whereas the other…

Screams interrupted that particular thought. I clap my hands but I can still see him. See him watching me.

* * *

"You guys have been great! Good night! Our next show is at the Harbor if you can make it!" Rhys wipes his face with a white towel and flings it into the audience.

A war breaks out for it and I watch shaking my head as elbows are jammed into eye sockets and ribs. Hair snatched and claws come out.

The rest of us clap enthusiastically and there's a big shuffle to the restrooms, the bar, or to the exit.

Ayira wraps her arm around mine and shouts into my ear. "Do you have to pee?"

"No." But I am ready to get the hell out of here. I'm itching to leave, eyes darting looking for him. I see him nowhere and that should have been enough to relax the tight muscles in my body, but it only makes them tense even more.

I hate this feeling. Because it reminds me that I didn't lose one best friend, but two and not just a best friend but…I don't even allow myself to go down that road. There's no point. It hurts and it always does when you want something but obstacles keeps you from having it.

"Let's get a drink," Ayira suggests. She jerks Taylor along. I humbly follow.

The three of us muscle our way to the bar. We waste time sipping cocktails, evading the jostling horde.

I bob my head to the music, scan the crowd and freeze. No. You've got to be shitting me.

He moves through the club in his self-assured gait that's neither lazy nor harried. Women stop to gaze, grope, get his attention anyway they can. My stomach plummets. If they can see him…then that means…but...

I can't stop looking. He offers his pending groupies a chill smile, keeps it moving. Straight. Toward. Me. Again, this is my mind playing tricks. No one can see him but me. Right?

Whatever's going on, my skin reacts, comes alive because he's drawing nearer.

Shit.

I try to remember what my therapist told me. But I can't remember _anything._ I don't even know if I'm breathing properly at this point.

My heart's beating too fast and I can't stop it because if this isn't a sign of psychosis and Damon _is_ actually alive I'm going to do something horrible. I can just feel it.

He lifts a bottle of bourbon to his mouth and drinks greedily never taking his azure orbs from me. Once he's had his fill he blindly hands the bottle to a passing guy who looks offended yet brightens once he sees the bottle isn't completely empty. I lock my knees ordering my body to stay still, not appear fearful, but it's difficult because I am.

The distance between us shrinks and I can smell the cologne on his skin. We're given a wide berth since the look in his eyes puts everyone on notice that if you try to stop him he'd have no problem introducing his fist to your gut.

Damon doesn't stop walking until he and I stand toe-to-toe, his hands automatically drop to my waist and he jerks me forward, my chest crushing into his. I think I am literally going to faint. His touch…I can _feel_ that. The tepid warmth of his skin…can feel that, too.

Why is he alive? _How_ is he alive? Tears, they sting my eyes but I refuse to let them fall because the sorrow I've felt every single day since the day he died turns into blinding white-hot rage, and I want to shove him away from me.

But I don't due to my arms being numb. In fact, everything below my neck I can no longer feel. The only thing holding me up is this imposter. I won't get my hopes up that he is in fact, real. Gotdamn I am Peeta Mellark.

"Hey," he breaths into my ear and drops a kiss on the corner of my jaw.

I jolt at his kiss, frown.

"Hug me, Bonnie so this doesn't look weird," I hear the mirth in his voice.

Clumsily, I snake my arms, which I can't feel, around his shoulders, sink my fingers into the blunt hairs on the nape of his neck. What are you doing, Bonnie?

I spy my roommate out of the corner of my eye. She's shell-shocked but snaps out of it and offers me a thumbs up. She doesn't understand. I'm in trouble.

He draws back to stare at me, smiles.

And I can't really control it but my hand comes up, swiftly, connects with his jaw, and turns his head from east to west.

"You're…" my voice is barely audible and it wavers, "supposed," he turns his head back ever so slowly to face me, "to be dead."

Damon's jaw flexes, his pupils shrink, and he has this scary determined look on his face that I know too well. The anger is potent between the two of us.

His brow flattens, smooths out, and any traces of rage have sputtered out. He's smiling again. Slowly and apologetically. I can tell he doesn't want to fight with me. But that's all I want to do because if I can't fight him I might do something else and I simply can't go there.

"I am."

My eyes narrow. Damon knows that's not what I meant. "You left me."

"It was for your own good," he says.

"I should have been the judge of that."

"You were in the hospital…you weren't in a position to judge." He pauses looking less confident now. "Tell your friends goodnight. We need to talk."

Yes we did but I'm not going to dismiss my friends. I'm no longer the girl who drops everything to rush off and go help sorry, disrespectful individuals. That part of my life is dead.

He reads that perfectly on my face because Damon seizes my arm and then we're out the door. I'm in the backseat of a car, and Stefan is sitting behind the wheel.

Two minutes in, in learning the truth about Damon and I'm being kidnapped. Nope. Nothing has changed.

"Hey, Bonnie," Stefan tosses out casually as he merges into traffic.

I'm fuming, glaring at the back of Stefan's big head, my hand shaking wanting to slap Damon again. "Let me out of this car, Stefan."

"Can't."

"Whatever you two have gotten yourselves into I want no part of. Let me _out_ of this car!"

Damon grips my thigh. My head whips towards him. "It's serious."

I scoff. "Isn't it always?"

"Caroline was attacked…she's actually being held as we speak," Stefan informs me.

There is a pang, a twitch that I can't ignore. The questions are ready to fly off my tongue but I swallow them back down. Things have…cooled considerably between myself and Caroline. We were friends in the general sense of the word, but we're not as close as we used to be.

"So go rescue her," I reply flippantly.

"And walk into a trap," Damon shakes his head. "We can't do that."

I laugh and can't stop laughing. "Typical. We haven't seen each other in almost four years and this whole time I thought you were dead! You can't just pop back up into my life and think I'm going to pull your ass out of the latest fire. Friendship doesn't work that way, Damon _and_ Stefan."

"Hey, I check up on you," Stefan sniffs.

Damon adds his two cents, "I'm sorry to do this to you, Bonnie."

Somewhere vague in the back of my mind I'm aware he's still clutching my thigh. The area his hand lingers begins to grow warm, hot. I want to wiggle away but his touch is proof that he's real. He's alive.

Halsey's singing about Gasoline and Damon's jewel blue eyes are burning down my walls.

The car stops moving. Stefan gets out.

I look through the window and see we're parked in front of a brightly lit hotel. It's five star. Luxurious, gaudy. If they're running from someone then this is the worst place for them to hide.

I make a move to hop out but Damon tightens his hand on my thigh. We're quiet. So quiet that my breathing sounds too loud. Even with late night traffic zooming down the street my ears pop with the silence inside the car.

Damon hasn't stopped looking at me. It makes me self-conscious, nervous, uncomfortable. I don't know what I look like to him. Then I dismiss it because it's not important.

"What do you want from me?" I shatter the silence.

"How…how have you been?" Damon's voice is raspier than I've ever heard it. Thick with something I can't describe.

"Coping. How long have you been…not dead?"

He smirks, making the lines around his eyes and cheeks deepen. Vampires can't age but the things he's gone through has had an effect on his looks. He's still…irritatingly good-looking but he looks older. He's still the Damon I remember, but there's a layer around him that wasn't there the last time I saw him.

I don't like thinking about our last encounter. He had been dead for three months and with his soul floating around in the phoenix stone…naturally he'd come back a bit different. The difference being, unpredictable bouts of violence. I should be worried he might snap but he seems, on the surface, calm.

"Stefan woke me up three days ago," he responds to my question. "I've been desiccated this whole time. I _chose_ desiccation because I wasn't safe to be around."

I shift on the seat to face him. "Why didn't you tell me in a letter or left me a text? Something, anything? Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why have I been led to believe you've been dead all this time?"

Damon sighs and finally lets go of my leg. And I feel like I'm floating. Floating away from him. "Because I knew you would try to stop me. I knew you'd continue to put yourself in harm's way in order to help me. I've done enough damage to you, Bonnie," his Adam's apple bobs. "I couldn't let you be around me knowing I could lose control…kill you. I meant what I said…if anything were to happen to you I'd lose my mind. Something did happen and it was my fault."

I don't say anything for a while. I give Damon a sidelong glance. "Why now? Why are you risking it now?"

"Stefan needs help. But…I just wanted to see you. I'm not here to ask for anything. I just _needed_ to see you."

I fail at keeping the surprise off my face. His cold knuckles brush along the slope of my cheek. It's too brief that I can't nuzzle into his touch.

"I miss you," he tells me softly.

"Is that supposed to make it better?"

"No, but it's the truth. I've missed you so gotdamn much."

Those six words break a barrier inside of me. Things that I've denied they existed came flooding forward, and I'm across the short space that separates me from Damon.

His hands cup my cheeks and wordlessly we're kissing. Our lips aren't merely pressed together, but meshed, melded, interlocked like pieces of a puzzle. I don't know why. I don't understand the science behind it because it's never been like this between us. We hug after going long periods without seeing each other. But kissing? That was a line we don't cross.

The line is obliterated now because the pain I've been carrying all this time has a name. It's called love. I love him so much it doesn't make sense.

Damon swallows my moan, I in turn swallow his. I tell myself we need to stop but we can't. Some part of me forgets about the roles we're supposed to play. Damon—the grieving boyfriend; me—the supportive friend. Yet a louder part screams it's been damn near four years and I don't plan on dying anytime soon.

His tongue slides through my mouth, touches mine. The delirium starts and I hear blood pounding in my ears. Damon's hands find their new home on my waist and he draws me closer that I'm practically sitting on his lap. He's so warm and I concentrate on his warmth. He's fed. I can tell. Whether from a blood bag or a live source, doesn't matter because his warmth surrounds me like a blanket.

When I need air I pull back slightly. My head is stuffy and I notice the windows are fogged up.

Damon frames my face and he's smiling albeit tremulously. "If things go to hell…I just wanted to do that at least once."

I grip his wrist. "I should hate you…but I can't. I'm too tired." I look away from him for moment second guessing if I should say this. I go with it because I may not get another chance. "This doesn't have to be the only 'once' between us." I'm officially talking with my groin now because sensible Bonnie would say what we just did was a mistake and a betrayal, but it doesn't feel like betrayal. _Or_ a mistake.

Damon chuckles, kisses my forehead. "Something tells me that it's not going to be enough."

"What's not going to be enough?"

He doesn't respond because his eyes are sending a message that I don't need translated.

"No," I concur. "Twenty one thousand days will never be enough…for us."

 **-The End-**

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! If you feel so inclined let me know what you think. Again, this is a one-shot. I won't be continuing this lol. Love you, guys.**


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